Wonder which of my favourite kites I am?



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCLV)


Read antique sonnets, yet don't hear them, frail
As voicing David Grey oer coffee thence
Is, lost to western beaches' surf from hence
And which I almost listen to in pale
Excuse, while Illinois' blue skies detail
These moors and wasted prairies winds pass whence
I canna say oer, whispers in a sense
Where Or'gon's ist? tore up auld trees to scale.
Our houses wink to golden light as twere,
Whiles Andrew's feel the hurr'cane damage to
Effect.  Suppose I don't know what I stir
In asking, he swears I shan't know 'til through
What ist? the ache's root we unearth in tour:
All.  And I love each minute lost to you.

09Apr17a